


Roll for Initiative

by Moorishflower



Series: Nerdstuck! [3]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Equius♦Nepeta - Freeform, F/F, F/M, John♥Equius, John♦Vriska - Freeform, Karkat♥Terezi, Karkat♦Gamzee - Freeform, M/M, Nerdstuck!, Tavros♥Dave, Terezi♠Vriska
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK. You take night classes at United Terra-Alternia University, you pity your moirail more than life itself, and on weekends you are a barbarian prince named Grathnar Bonefist.</p><p>You have also developed an unfortunate flushcrush on your team's newest player.</p><p>(There is an ASK BLOG associated with this series, where you can give scenarios or prompts to the author and ask the characters and author questions, and it can be found here: http://askthenerdstucks.tumblr.com/)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. > Be the sweaty barbarian.

**> Be the sweaty barbarian.**

Your name is Equius Zahhak. You are ten solar sweeps old, or, ugh, _twenty_ Earth years, and you are a second-year student at the United Terra-Alternia University; you take night classes on robotics and mechanical engineering, and during the day you either sleep or chat with your moirail, Nepeta. You have a variety of hobbies, including being STRONG, honing your STRONGNESS, building robots and then smashing them to pieces because of said STRONGNESS, and so on, and so forth.

On the weekends, you are a barbarian prince named Grathnar Bonefist.

~

“I’m gonna steal the guard’s helmet.”

Karkat narrows his eyes; the little half-circle of trolls ringed around the table (including yourself) groans audibly.

“You have to roll a forty or higher,” he says eventually, and Vriska pumps her fist. Karkat originally wanted to use human twenty-sided dice, but, at Vriska’s insistence, you all switched to the more familiar Alternian 48-sided randomized number-generator.

Occasionally you question the wisdom of letting Vriska have her way, but you must admit that she has the right of it on the subject of Alternian gaming’s superiority.

Vriska scoops up her customized die (black with cerulean Alternian numerals, her personal colors) and gives it a good shake in her cupped fist, then lets it fly across the table. It beans Tavros in the forehead and goes ricocheting back to the middle of the map.

Forty-two.

“Aw, yeah!” Vriska scribbles ‘Whitemoon guard’s helmet’ down on her inventory sheet. “Who’s awesome! Suck it, bitches!”

“If we could, uh, possibly get back to the quest, we are supposed to be doing, rather than stealing unsuspecting guards’, um, equipment...”

“You’re just jealous the wildling class won’t ever be as cool as us thieves.”

“Oh my god, shut up you grublicking perpetual arrogance machine, no one _cares_. The guard doesn’t notice your _flagrant disregard for Whitemoon law_ , and you successfully steal his helmet.”

“Right off his fucking head!”

“Whatever. Remember that you still have to sneak into the dungeons to rescue the Tsaresse.”

You examine the figures on the map, placed strategically around the entrance to the underground dungeons of Whitemoon. Within those dank and dirty halls, a noble Tsaresse has been imprisoned. She but waits for you to rescue her, with your strength of arms and your +4 pendant of critical thinking (which allows you to neatly sidestep the intelligence cap on your class). Oh, sweet Tsaresse of the Hidden City, how you long to save her from her hideous misfortune and...

“Holy shit, Equius, get a towel before you drown everyone.”

Karkat, unfortunately, is not as subtle as you would prefer. You pick up your towel from where you stashed it beneath your chair and mop your forehead. “My apologies. May I suggest that, instead of robbing otherwise innocent guards, we reconvene and address the issue of how we might enter the dungeons unnoticed?”

“What he, uh, said,” Tavros agrees, and Vriska sneers across the table at him.

“Fine. Be a bunch of lame wigglers, see if I care.”

“Excellent. I subtly approach the guard and attempt to render him unconscious with my strength.”

“Aiming where?”

“The back of the head, below the horns but above the neck.”

Karkat makes note of this. You hold your breath as the rattle of Karkat’s die sounds behind the QM’s screen.

“You failed your Sneak check. Roll for initiative.”

“Oh, blast and bebother.” You delicately retrieve your die and give it a gentle shake across the table. You wish Terezi were here today, her Diplomacy attribute is much higher than yours, but your paladin is currently studying for her Economics class, which she hates, and which she currently holds a 76 in as a result of her hatred.

The die stops on 28, and everyone waits with bated breath as Karkat consults his TrollQuest handbook (5th edition). Eventually, you see the bob of his nubby horns over the screen.

“You win initiative. By a single goddamn point.”

“I attempt to disable the guard with my fists.” You roll for damage; Vriska has begun to scratch her nose.

“So _boring_ ,” she whines. “I wish ‘Rezi was here.”

“Well, uh, she isn’t, so.”

You roll a nineteen. The guard withstands the might of your fists and attempts to gore you with a pike. “Is no one going to come to my aid?”

Vriska flaps her hand at you. “You’re fine, that wasn’t even a lot of damage.” Oh. The guard rolled a twenty-seven. You appear to be bleeding out of your thorax, now. “Besides, I’m losing interest. It’s not the same with just three players.”

“Terezi’s got important shit in her future. Stop whining and help your teammate, he’s losing blood.”

“I don’t _wanna_.”

“Are there any, uh, animals nearby?” Tavros inquires hopefully, and Karkat switches from the handbook to a print-out info pamphlet of Whitemoon.

“Skitterbeats in the dungeons, a few honkbeasts in a market stall down the street, and...oh, a barkbeast kennel. They’re used for hunting hoofbeasts.”

“Sweet! I cast Summon Nature’s Ally III and, uh, rescue Equius’s sweaty buns from certain death.”

“While I object to your mockery of my glandular condition, I appreciate the assistance.” You are losing more health to your bleeding damage than to anything the guard can martially do to you, and it is mildly infuriating.

While Tavros rolls for concentration and initiative, you peer at Karkat over the top of his screen. He has been unusually reticent this session, and while you would not call yourself his friend, precisely, you are nevertheless concerned for him. It was Nepeta who introduced you initially, but it was Karkat’s surprising charisma which drew you into his TrollQuest sessions, and now it is his influence which allows such disparate personalities (and hemotypes) as Vriska, Tavros, and yourself to engage in relatively harmless pastimes such as tabletop games. You feel you owe him a debt, and while you were initially concerned about your social obligations re: subjugating the lesser blood castes and how it would affect your ability to interact with him, you find yourself caring...less, these days.

You aren’t even sure what Karkat’s blood color _is_. Something quite low, you’re certain of that. You are surprised to find that you no longer really care about the exact shade. What difference does it make? This is not Alternia, after all. Alternia has not been habitable for many sweeps, and it is only the long-lived aristocracy which still places emphasis on hemotyping.

Karkat has begun to gnaw on his pencil. You place your hand in the middle of the map, beside the figures of Tavros’s wildling, Briarheart, and your barbarian, Grathnar. Your palm nearly eclipses the entirety of Whitemoon’s central market. “Karkat. What is wrong?”

He glares at you over the edge of his screen. Vriska has stopping cleaning her nails and now watches with thinly-veiled interest.

“Nothing,” he says. Cagily, you think.

“Karkat, must I call your moirail?”

“You touch one fucking button on your mobile communications device and I will cut your stomach out and wear it as a hat.”

“Oooh,” Vriska says, sounding briefly smitten. Tavros whips his eyes back and forth between the three of you.

“Please, Karkat.” You have begun to sweat again, as you almost always do when faced with any sort of conflict. You retrieve your towel and wipe down your face and neck. “I am concerned. You are not your usual, vitriolic self.”

“You’re barely making Equius clutch his pearls at all,” Vriska adds. “You haven’t even called him a bulgebite yet!”

You twitch at the vulgarity, and Vriska cackles. Karkat shuffles his collection of print-outs, pamphlets, books, and looseleaf papers, all behind the relative anonymity of the QM’s screen. He mumbles something that you don’t quite catch.

“I’m sorry?”

He takes a deep breath. “I _said_ , Terezi is quitting the session.”

“ _What_?”

“Uh...”

“I’ll fucking kill her!”

Vriska stands, apparently intending to seek Terezi out with little more than her dice and murderous intention as her aids. Karkat immediately kicks out, hitting the back of her leg with a meaty _thud_ ; she sits back down and acts as though it had been her idea all along.

“No one’s killing anyone, nookstain. Now shut your whiny bitch mouth, pick the lock on the dungeon entrance, and open your auricular sponge clots, because Karkat Vantas is going to learn you some _goddamn knowledge_.”

Vriska mutters direly beneath her breath, but tosses her die nevertheless. She, of course, rolls a forty-two, and opens the dungeon with ease. Tavros’s barkbeasts make short work of the already injured guard (with the help of a respectable roll of thirty-three), and you check your inventory for healing agents while Karkat explains what has been happening with Terezi since you all last saw her.

“So, since you’re all a bunch of slavering, empty-panned wigglers...”

“Says the nubby-horned gremlin.”

Karkat kicks Vriska again, this time under the table. “...I don’t expect you to understand the _intense fucking trials_ involved in becoming a lawyer. It’s not just her Econ class she needs to do better in, she needs to ace _everything_. Harvard won’t accept her for grad school unless she’s more awesome than usual.”

“Are you two, uh, flushed again, or...?”

Karkat scowls. “Back off, bullbrain. Even if it _was_ your business I wouldn’t fucking tell you.”

“That’s a no, Tavros.”

“I, uh, figured.”

“ _Getting back on track_. Terezi’s not abandoning us irredeemable losers, contrary to all sanity and common sense. She just can’t finish this session with us, or start any new ones. Not until Winter break starts.”

“Aw, _man_.”

“That sucks, uh, majorly. Are we going to finish this, uh, fight, or...?”

You push your sunglasses further up your nose. “That is unfortunate, but it would indeed behoove her to pay more attention to her studies.”

“Fuck your hoofbeast puns, if you start pulling that shit outside Trollian I’m going to tie your goddamn guts in a bow.”

“My apologies.” You mop your forehead again. “However, I must inquire as to what this means for our session. Briarheart is mildly skilled in alchemizing potions, but we lack a competent healer for dungeon crawls. I believe I speak for everyone when I say that I do not wish to attempt the Whitemoon dungeons without someone capable of Cure Moderate Wounds.”

“Speak for yourself, Sweatquius, I can totally take this crawl on alone!”

Karkat is beginning to look cagey again. You are struck with a sudden and dire sense of impending doom. While Vriska and Tavros bicker over what to do with the guard’s dead and mutilated body (Tavros is in favor of letting the barkbeasts have it, Vriska thinks they ought to bring it with them and use it as bait), you inch around the table and approach Karkat from the side. He hunches instinctively away from you, which, in another place, another life, might bring you pleasure, but which now causes you to crouch down and round your shoulders in an attempt to look non-threatening. It is not easy; you are nearly seven feet tall, and Karkat hovers awkwardly around 5’10”, ever hopeful of a (extremely late) growth spurt. Still, you have experience, as Nepeta is even smaller than Karkat, and you must be gentle with her, and kind, for she is your moirail.

Karkat deserves at least a fraction of the respect you have for her, for his ability to bring your group of friends together, if nothing else.

“Karkat,” you say gravely, and he exhales loudly, shakily, and scrubs at his eyes. They remain, as ever, grey and inscrutable, though the rest of you began to display your hemotypes several sweeps ago. He must be wearing contact lenses; there is no such thing as grey blood.

“I invited someone,” he mumbles. Your eyebrows rise. “Vriska won’t be happy.”

“Vriska is never happy. Unless she is causing someone physical or mental distress, of course.”

“I heard my name!” Vriska’s face pops over the edge of the screen. “Didn’t your lusii ever tell you it’s not polite to talk about someone like they aren’t there? Now, what’s this about another player?”

Tavros visibly perks up. “Another player? Are they, uh, nice? Is it Nepeta?”

“Nepeta likes chatroom RP better,” Vriska says with a flick of her fingers. “Come on, stubby, spill the beans already!”

Karkat pulls himself up, sitting straight in his seat. He looks you, all of you, straight in the eyes. You have started to sweat again.

“His name is John Egbert,” he says. “And he’s human.”

“Holy shit, _what_.”

“Seriously, Karkat? Like, he’s actually, uh...?”

You are going to need another towel.


	2. John: Attend college, become meguca

**> Be the human.**

Your name is John Egbert. You’re nineteen years old, and after a long and arduous process involving three essays, seven scholarship applications, and a heartfelt request to the Dean herself, you finally managed, a few months ago, to obtain an acceptance letter from the United Terra-Alternia University. You got acceptance letters from other colleges, too, but UTAU is the only university for you. The _only_ one. You only applied to the others because your dad said you needed safety schools.

But you never intended to respond to any of those other ones. Shh, don’t tell dad!

Your interests include filling your prankster’s gambit via complex and occasionally slightly-unfunny jokes and japeries, magic tricks, movies of all sorts (but especially those involving Nic Cage), hapkido, and, of course, playing fun games with your friends! Unfortunately, most of your friends can only contact you via the internet now that you live in San Francisco to attend school.

Which is why it’s so awesome that Karkat invites you to join his roleplaying group!

~

Back when he was still alive, even your Poppop barely remembered first contact with Alternia. He was just a little baby, and though it would be years before any trolls actually set foot on Earth, he still grew up with the knowledge that they existed, and that things were being prepared in order to make them comfortable. By the time you were born, they were just sort of...there? Like, there’s still a lot of political nonsense that goes on about troll rights and discrimination and things like that, but it’s not like there are riots in the streets or anything. Trolls are an immutable fact of life now. Even so, it’s only recently that combination human/troll universities and high schools have been set up. That has something to do with tradition and also troll jobs being really weird, like, historically, so it’s a pretty big deal that you’ve gotten into one!

It’s an even bigger deal that you’ve managed to befriend one of your classmates!

His name is Karkat, and he’s a biology major (like you!). He doesn’t wear his blood color, which you gather is A Thing with him, but you don’t really care because the blood color thing is weird and you didn’t pay much attention to it when you did a section on troll history in high school. You mostly like Karkat because he’s loud and angry and _hilarious_ , and also he likes movies just as much as you do! Even if they’re all weird troll romcom movies with really long titles.

The best part is that Karkat says he can introduce you to _his_ friends. In fact, they do this tabletop game every weekend, and sometimes weekdays, if they’re all free and not too tired, and even before the words “do you want to come?” had left his mouth you had been nodding enthusiastically.

Now he leads you to his dormitory, one of the communal ‘hivestems’ set up for troll students, and you cheerfully let his invective flow in one ear and out the other. A lot of what he’s warned you about, at least as far as his friends go, is that a bunch of them have never actually talked to humans before. Maybe they’ve seen a few in their classes, but considering that troll classes run all night and human ones run all day, the two don’t tend to mix. You only know Karkat because you’re a night owl anyways, and you liked the idea of smaller core classes that would give you the opportunity to sleep in in the mornings.

You come to a stop in front of the door to his dorm, a sort of mini-apartment that you really envy (your own off-campus apartment is...sort of sketchy, but at least it’s cheap!), and Karkat prevents you from opening the door by latching onto your wrist with his claws. “Hold up. Have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?”

You stare at him, and then smile tentatively. He rubs his forehead with his free hand.

“Okay, I’ll go over it again for the sake of the _mentally deficient_ in the room. The people you’re going to meet are Vriska, Tavros, and Equius. Vriska is insane. Under no circumstances should you attempt to engage her in conversation. If she talks to you, ignore her. If she tries to touch you, move away. If she continues to try and touch you, alert me to the problem and I will deal with her. Second, Tavros. You’ll probably get along like a hive on fire. Don’t make fun of his legs. Other than that, he’s harmless. Last, Equius.” He pauses, scrunching his nose at you. “How do you feel about hoofbeasts?”

“Um?”

Enunciating carefully, and looking as though it physically pains him to do so, Karkat says, “ _Horses_.”

“Oh! Uh, one bit me when I was eight, but I was sort of annoying it, I guess, so...neutral?”

“That’ll do, oinkbeast, that’ll do. Don’t talk about hoofbeasts in anything but a positive light. Don’t give him orders. And for god’s sake, don’t let _him_ touch you, either! He’s broken drinking receptacles with thicker hides than you.”

You aren’t entirely sure what that means, but you aren’t really worried. You show this with a shrug and a hearty palhoncho pat of Karkat’s shoulder. “Don’t worry! I’m pretty sure he can’t be that much stronger than Yun Song. He was my old hapkido instructor. He does competitions for the Mun-Mu hyeong and everything!” You lean in close. “That’s _sixty-one movements_! I’ve only done up to Gwang-Gae!”

Karkat stares at you. “I...have no idea what the grubshitting fuck you just said.” You pat his shoulder again.

“That’s all right. Come on, I want to meet your friends!”

So, with a long-suffering sigh, Karkat lets go of your wrist and unlocks his door.

Your first thought upon entering his hive-thingy is _wow! So much space!_ Karkat has mostly decorated just his walls, and these primarily with posters for a variety of movies, some of which you have even seen. Beyond that, there is a super simple kitchen-looking thing, a short hallway with two doors at the end, and, of course, a really basic living room containing a table, several chairs, and a television.

Your second thought is _I didn’t know trolls were so big!_

Because, really, compared to the three seated at said table and chairs, Karkat is practically tiny. There is a guy with really huge horns and a sweet mohawk, and he’s not sitting in one of the chairs because he’s actually in a wheelchair, which you guess means this guy must be Tavros, the one Karkat told you not to make fun of his legs. You can’t imagine why you’d want to do that! Disabilities are not laughing matters, for sure.

Then there’s a tall girl with really long, messy hair, and one horn that’s pronged and the other hooked, and she’s got glasses, except over one eye she’s also got an eyepatch? She’s really tall and sort of wild-looking, like she just came out of the jungle with a machete and told you to follow her if you wanted to live. She looks dangerous. Cool, but dangerous.

And then there’s the third guy. He’s...well, he’s _big_. He’s really tall, like seven feet tall even, and he’s built like a lean truck, and he’s got a broken horn, but the other one is arrow-shaped. His hair is long, to the middle of his shoulders long, and you have the fleeting thought that you’d like to spar with him sometime, since his center of gravity is bound to be way different from yours and you think you could learn a lot from each other. He’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, which you give tentative props to, and there’s a stack of towels beneath his chair.

Weird?

“Stubby!”

It’s the girl who moves first, leaping up out of her chair and lunging to punch Karkat in the arm. It looks like it hurt! But Karkat is such a trooper, he doesn’t even react beyond scowling harder.

“Okay assholes, if I could have your unwavering attention for thirty seconds, I’ll try and pound your names into each others’ rotten thinkpans, okay? This is John Egbert. He’s going to be our new healer. John, that’s Equius Zahhak, our barbarian.” Equius raises one massive hand, and you wave cheerfully. “This squalling dead-eyed icequeen is Vriska Serket. She’s our thief. And the one with the massive rack is Tavros Nitram, our wildling.”

“Wildling?”

“Think of it like a druid, but more martially-oriented. You can borrow the handbook later. For now I just want to get your character rolled.”

“Oh, I already did that!”

“What.”

You pull a neat little folded square of papers out of your pocket. “The last campaign I did was at level eight, and you mentioned you guys were level three now, so I figured I could just scale my character back down. I, um, already got the handbook off the internet last night.” You laugh. “So I made a few adjustments! You guys have a lot of the same classes as D&D, so it wasn’t that hard.”

“Let me see that!” Karkat snatches the paper away from you and carries it over to the table, where he proceeds to erect the most elaborate little DM setup you’ve ever seen. He’s got a massive screen! Too cool. “Huh. I’d have expected paladin from you.”

“I want to see too.” Tavros pulls himself closer using the table’s edge, peering up at you. You quickly take a seat, so as not to be rude; Vriska follows you. She hovers at your shoulder like a really weird dog. “Hi. I’m, uh, Tavros. Like he said.”

You reach across the table to shake Tavros’s hand. It’s way bigger than yours! His skin is all grey and he’s really, really warm. Also, he has claws. You’re sort of careful about those. “Nice to meet you! I guess I’ll be your healer, huh?”

“If _someone_ will tell us what _class_ you are,” Vriska complains. Karkat responds by crumpling up a blank sheet of paper and throwing it at her face. “Ugh! Way to act like a wiggler, Karkat!”

“Shut your mouth and put your stupid figure on the map. John, you get to use whatever the hell is close enough until you get your own figure. Vriska, you’re paired with Tavros, since you’ve got too many goddamn healing potions.”

“Yay!”

“You have to give half of them to Briarheart.”

“ _Boo_.”

“John, you’re with Equius. Equius, meet...” He squints at your character sheet. “Song Rain? What the fresh hell sort of name is that?”

“I got it off the internet!”

“Right, of course you did. Anyways, _Song Rain_ here is our new monk.”

“I was under the impression that monks were a martial class.”

It’s the first you’ve heard from Equius, and his voice is very deep and very rumbly, and also coming from _right next to you_ , which makes you jump a little. When you turn, you notice that he is staring down at you with an expression that is sort of like contempt, but maybe a bit gentler. Maybe confused contempt. Like he isn’t sure if he should dislike you or not. Which is weird, because you haven’t done anything to him!

“Monks can choose to follow a specific style,” you explain. “At least, in TrollQuest they can, which I think is pretty cool! In Dungeons and Dragons, monks are basically just...”

“Cease your irrelevant prattling and explain your class choice.”

“Oh, sorry! Anyways, Song Rain follows the Way of the Glowing Palm, which gives access to some of the cleric spells up to level four. It’s dependent on him staying lawful-neutral, though, so I can’t deviate too much.”

“Which spells?”

Oh, geez, you had them all typed out on the paper that Karkat has! Still, you try to remember. “Cure wounds up to critical, inflict wounds to critical, um...locate object, blindness/deafness, water walk, remove curse...there’s some more, but those are some big ones.”

“Hmm.” Equius’s arm muscles twitch minutely, and you find yourself holding your breath. “That is...adequate. I suppose.”

You exhale sharply. Whoo! For a second there you were super worried!

“Come _on_.” Vriska’s whine is like a piercing siren. “Let’s get going already! There’s a dungeon to explore, loot to find! Heads to bash in! You like bashing heads, right, Grathnar?”

Which is how you end up playing a tabletop RPG with a bunch of trolls.


	3. Equius: Endure sword-based harassment, have worldview turned upside-down.

**> Equius: Become confused.**

You have never met a human before. Not a real, live human, anyways; you had, at Nepeta’s insistence, ventured (once!) into a mixed-race chatroom, but you’d found the lack of typing quirks and the indiscriminate use of text color so distressing and infuriating that you had...well, punched through the screen of your husktop. Which was fine, you had been meaning to replace it anyways, but the serendipity surrounding your new husktop had not quelled the rage in your breast over the sheer _audacity_ of humans. You know, logically, that they do not ascribe to a hemospectrum, and that their blood is uniformly an atrocious bright red, but logic had not adequately prepared you for the _wrongness_ of it, now that you are face to face with...

...with John.

It is not his blood which is the main problem, though. It is merely a large part of a huge jigsaw puzzle of depravity, many pieces of which have gone missing, but which will likely return to haunt you at some later junction in your life. No, it’s not the blood, disgusting as it is.

It’s how _cheerful_ he is. How kind. How intelligent (he is studying biology! Should not a human be interested in less empirical pursuits, considering their lack of aptitude in the hard sciences?), and how articulate regarding his interests. Between rolls of the die and calculating damage, he speaks passionately and at length about cinema, his classes, his friends (among which he counts Karkat, and now, apparently, yourself and the other players), and a variety of minute topics, the importance of which escapes you. Worse still, he is _good_ at TrollQuest. He does not have Vriska’s luck with dice, but he is of unusually sound judgement, and you discover that Song Rain’s lawful neutrality quite neatly curbs Grathnar’s chaotic nature. You might call them moirails, were you not already so devoted to Nepeta that even the thought of faux-disloyalty makes you feel ill.

You want very badly to hate him. Platonically, of course, you are quite certain that a human could not withstand the vagaries of black romance.

“You’re standing in the central cavern of the Whitemoon Dungeons,” Karkat says, his voice taking the precise, slightly officious tone of the QM. “Torches gutter and spit along the walls, throwing fey shadows across your faces, but providing little actual light by which to see. Surrounding you are eight tunnels, leading away in multiple directions; the light is so poor that most of them appear as shadowed mouths, gaping at you from the abyssal depths. The northwest tunnel is lit with rows of torches; the east tunnel emits a faint glow, but from this distance the source cannot be discerned. From the southeast tunnel, an eerie moaning sound echoes.” He pauses, and then, in a more normal voice, says, “Vriska, tell me you aren’t carrying the guard’s body.”

“Okay! I’m not carrying the guard’s body.”

“ _Liar_ , I can see your inventory sheet from here. Fucking _shit_ , Vriska, what the slurryfucking hell is wrong with you?”

You reach for a towel, silently cursing Karkat’s tendency towards...colorful language. It makes you uncomfortable; you envy his easy familiarity with crude words. John, sitting next to you, watches you mop your forehead and neck with undisguised interest.

“Maybe we could, possibly, discard the body? Before it attracts, some monsters, maybe.”

“Are there usually monsters in city dungeons?” John inquires.

“There are in this one.”

“Whitemoon is the home of Baroness Jadeclaw,” Vriska explains. She appears to have taken a shine to John, though you aren’t certain whether this is due to genuine interest or merely a desire to take advantage of his naivete. For all that he seems quite intelligent, John has revealed that he is...distressingly sheltered. Karkat’s rants have, on no fewer than four occasions, caused John to gape, open-mouthed, in awe.

John has a distracting mouth. His teeth, were they sharper, would make excellent fangs. Such a waste.

“Baroness Jadeclaw is a jadeblood,” Karkat says. “She went insane and abandoned her duties to the Mother Grub, then absconded to Whitemoon, where she became their leader. She uses the dungeons as her personal playground, creating hideous troll/lusii hybrids and breeding monsters together, trying to create a new type of Mother Grub.”

John looks horrified. You do not blame him; when Karkat first explained the depths of Jadeclaw’s depravity you, too, felt the blaze of righteous anger. Also, ill. You felt extremely ill.

“We have to stop her!” John says. “That’s horrible, we have to...!”

“We’re only one party of, uh, adventurers. We can’t do much, to stop her on our own.”

“Which is why we are now endeavoring to rescue the Tsaresse of the Hidden City. She opposes the Baroness and has vowed to end her reign of terror. Unfortunately, she was kidnapped by the Baroness’s laughssassins, and now Jadeclaw intends to turn the fair Tsaresse into a hideous monster.”

John audibly gasps. You feel unaccountably pleased; you are not the storyteller that Karkat is, but it is nice that your ominous reveal was received well.

No, wait. You’re supposed to be hating him. You subside back into surly silence.

John proves himself a natural leader, asking the opinions of the others and taking them into consideration, while at the same time asserting surprisingly strong viewpoints of his own. John asks Tavros to cast Detect Animals and Plants, after which Karkat reveals that both the northwest and southeast tunnels are positively riddled with bestial life; however, when John himself casts Detect Undead, it becomes readily apparent that the east tunnel is out of the question. Vriska’s successful Listen check alarms you all further: shuffling footsteps and the sound of bare and clattering bones approaches you from the eastern tunnel.

“Northwest,” she says. “Nobody lines an unused tunnel with torches.”

“Makes sense,” John agrees. “Grathnar, take point. Briarheart, you take up the middle and be ready to cast Dominate Animal. I’m in back, so I can cast Consecrate if I need to. Mindfang, flanking maneuvers only, we need your Trap Sense.”

“But I can sneak attack!”

“Karkat, what’s the TrollQuest policy for sneak attacks on undead?”

“No discernable vitals means no sneak crits. You know that, Vriska.”

“Fuck you!”

“Wax any more pitch and you’ll, uh, turn into, a black hole there, Vris.”

“Fuck you fuck you fuck you--”

“That is enough,” you say. You have begun to sweat again, and you automatically reach for a towel...

...Only to find that John is already handing you one. You stare at him, and he shrugs, with a blindingly cheerful grin the likes of which you have never seen before. Your bloodpusher hammers once against your thoracic bone cage.

Oh.

You wipe your face.

“Much as it pains me to say, I agree with John. Mindfang is the only one among our number who is capable of sensing traps. Song Rain is the only one capable of holy magic. The positions make sense.”

“ _Suck my bulge, towelfucker!_ ”

“Vriska!” Suddenly, John is on his feet. Though he is the smallest of the lot of you, being the same height as Karkat but considerably lankier, he has a commanding presence that draws the attention of everyone at the table. Even Vriska looks momentarily discombobulated by how _forceful_ John now appears, his face set in grim determination and his mouth a rigid, disapproving line. “That was all sorts of mean and uncalled-for!” He points his finger at her. His soft, blunt little human finger. You feel faint. “Apologize to Equius!”

“You’re not my auspistice, Eg _dork_!”

“Okay, I don’t know what that is and I probably wouldn’t want to be one anyways, but I want to be your _friend_ , guys! And friends keep each other from fighting!” Vriska looks away, obviously uncomfortable. Tavros watches her schooling with undisguised glee. “Come on, Vriska. Look, there’s more than undead in this dungeon, right? There’s animals, and there’ll probably be guards at some point. That’s why flanking is so important! Sure, you’re just sensing traps _now_ , but if you stay to the front and to the side, you’ll be the first one who can land a sneak attack on something that _does_ have vitals.”

Vriska picks at one of her fingers, worrying the clawbed. She is sucking on her bottom lip, and it is such a fragile, _wiggler_ sort of movement that for an instant you feel a stab of pity shoot through you. Out of all of you, Vriska has had the most difficulty filling her quadrants--or, to be more precise, _keeping_ them filled. She is not particularly pitiable at the best of times, and though she seems made for kismessitude, there is also the ever-present concern that she will permanently injure, or even kill, her blackrom partner.

You have never considered her in this light before, but John seems to bring with him the winds of change. Perhaps you could speak to her after the session is...

“I take Grathnar’s sword,” she says.

No. No, the pity is gone, now.

“Vriska!”

“Them’s the breaks, John! Sword for flanking maneuvers.”

You sigh heavily. John looks to be gearing up for a dressing-down of truly intense proportions, and Karkat is watching him like a moth watches a porchlight. Deciding to stop this whole mess in its tracks and be the bigger troll, you say, “I will fight with my fists if it means we act as a cohesive unit,” and lay a hand on John’s shoulder. He stills immediately.

Now, you will be the first to admit that you were not, perhaps, as gentle with that movement as you ought have been, considering the fact that humans lack chitin, claws, and have bones about as dense as tissue paper. You were, in fact, expecting some sort of flinch, or noise of pain. You are exceptionally strong, after all, and have only gotten stronger over the years; you have had to build your own writing utensils out of carbon steel, and you have yet to enter a classroom without breaking at least one thing (thankfully, these things are usually of no consequence).

But John...doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even twitch a muscle, let alone issue a cry of pain.

Which means that either his pain receptors are shriveled husks, or...

John turns his head to smile at you. This causes your hand to shift, a little, and to brush against his neck. Your bloodpusher does an acrobatic pirouette off the handle and lands squarely in your flushed quadrant.

Luckily, John appears to be otherwise engaged in forcing Vriska to act like a mature troll of her bloodtype ought. He does not notice your discomfort.

Also luckily, Nepeta is available for a feelings jam immediately after the session is over.


	4. Dave, Karkat: Deal with emotionally constipated friends.

**> John: Feelings jam with Dave.**

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

EB: dave!  
EB: dave come on!  
EB: i will flood your inbox with shout poles, don't think i won't!  
EB: !!!!!!!!  
EB: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
TG: holy shit egbert  
TG: cant a dude get his nap on without being bludgeoned with punctuation  
EB: yay!  
TG: whats the big shitstorm over  
TG: did nic cage make another award winning piece of shit  
TG: is your apartment on fire  
TG: john did you set your apartment on fire  
EB: if you will let me get a word in edgewise, i'll tell you!  
EB: i made some new friends!  
TG: are these friends you made in the plushie isle of toys r us or  
EB: pffft ha ha! no, silly! actual, real life friends!  
EB: who happen to be trolls!  
TG: what  
EB: i know! i can hardly believe it either! we played trollquest today (or i guess tonight?) and that's sort of like d&d but everyone is a troll and also there are some weird classes.  
TG: oh god  
EB: ?  
TG: the nerd  
TG: it burns  
EB: says mister "i can't chat right now i have to grind my minotaur so i can afford some ironic boots hurr hurr!"  
TG: okay first off wow and d&d arent even comparable  
TG: and second  
TG: how the hell did you get roped into playing nerdbro games with a bunch of trolls  
TG: did you get kidnapped or something  
TG: should i call the fbi  
EB: no no no! we are friends, dave!  
EB: actual friends who talk to each other!  
EB: well, one of them is my friend anyways. i think.  
EB: anyways that is way beyond the point i was trying to get at!  
TG: are you going to confess your secret troll fetish  
EB: no!  
EB: but...  
TG: oh my god  
EB: it's nothing like that! i just wanted to ask you a few questions, maybe?  
TG: questions what questions  
TG: i dont have any answers  
EB: come on! you're dating a troll!  
TG: dating is a relative term  
TG: i prefer to think of it as raps with benefits  
EB: you like AT don't you even deny it!  
TG: okay fine sometimes the dork is kinda charming i guess  
TG: whatever this is about your wacky love life hijinx not mine  
TG: fire away  
EB: okay so!  
EB: trolls have got four types of romance, right?  
TG: yeah so  
EB: but i don't really get it!  
EB: so like, say i might have sort of...volunteered to calm someone down.  
TG: excuse me what  
EB: okay so there is this girl vriska, and she is all sorts of trouble! she gets into fights all the time and she is always hassling this other member of our party for reasons i am not really sure of, and she insults everyone and is just generally terrible.  
TG: sounds like a real charmer  
EB: but karkat told me that she grew up pretty much alone because when she was like thirteen her monster guardian had to be confiscated by the government. i guess it got too big or too dangerous or something?  
TG: could be  
EB: anyways, that is why i think that she does all these terrible things, because she's been alone for a really long time and no one ever told her that it wasn't okay, and now she just does it because she knows it will get people to pay attention to her.  
EB: and when i think about it like that i just feel so fucking sorry for her!  
EB: and i told karkat that and he said i could ask for advice on pale solicitations if i wanted and he could give me some movies and literature and that is where i sort of tuned out.  
TG: okay  
TG: get your braincase ready because dj strider is going to homeschool you in some goddamn troll culture  
TG: there are four types of troll romance  
TG: matespritship moirallegiance auspisticism and kismessitude  
TG: these can be arranged into quadrants for easier understanding  
TG: the red quadrants are matespritship and moirallegiance because red means more positive yo  
TG: matespritship is the flushed quadrant and its the one thats like being in love except trolls dont call it love they call it pity  
EB: why?  
TG: because theyre weird assholes dont ask me why jesus  
TG: moirallegiance is the pale quadrant and it means you keep each other in line and sane and all that jazz  
TG: that is what your trollbro meant by pale solicitations  
EB: oh wow!  
TG: auspisticism is the beginning of black romance  
TG: its called the ashen quadrant and it exists solely because trolls are emotionally stunted fuckheads and sometimes two trolls will want to hatefuck the shit out of each other but it will make everyone else around them miserable  
TG: an auspistice sort of steps between them and is like woah dudes hatefucking has a time and a place and this is not the time nor the place  
TG: and then of course theres kismessitude which is the hatefucking  
EB: so which is AT to you?  
TG: none of your fucking business  
TG: also off topic  
TG: so are you going to get all pale with crazy girl or do i need to fly out there and rescue your nerdy ass  
EB: like i need rescuing! i can handle myself just fine, thanks very much!  
EB: and i think...  
EB: i think i might get a second opinion on whether i should or not?  
EB: one of the other players seems like a pretty cool guy, and vriska was really making things rough for him.  
EB: so i might ask him. i just need to ask karkat for his trollhandle.  
TG: my little egderp is all grown up  
TG: forming quadrangles with trolls and shit  
TG: brings a manly tear to my eye  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] sent turntechGodhead [TG] the file "hurrdurrimdaveandimsoironic.jpeg" --  
TG: nice face there egbert  
TG: did you get it at ikea  
EB: i got it from your bro last night.  
TG: ooh harsh  
TG: ill be feeling that sick burn for days  
EB: don't you know it!

You end the chat after some friendly conversation and good-natured ribbing, having learned that Dave is now going to University of Houston, and that he has moved out of his Bro’s apartment and is living with a roommate. He wishes you luck with your...whatever it is...with Vriska, and you wish him luck with adiosToreador, his troll pseudo-boyfriend.

Wishing you knew a bit more about troll romance than Dave’s bare-basics explanation, you scroll down your chumroll until you find Karkat’s TrollHandle. He’s online but doesn’t appear to be doing anything, so you figure now’s as good a time as any to chat!

EB: hey karkat!  
CG: HOLY SHIT.  
EB: ?  
CG: FUCK, IT'S NOTHING. GAMZEE CHANGED MY ALERT SOUND TO ONE OF HIS SHITTASTIC HORNS AND IT STARTLED THE DIGESTIVE FLUID OUT OF ME.  
CG: THIS IS JOHN, RIGHT?  
EB: yup!  
CG: GOOD, I'D HATE TO CHARBROIL THE WRONG BUCKTOOTHED ASSHOLE.  
CG: WHAT THE ALMIGHTY FUCK WERE YOU THINKING LAST NIGHT?  
CG: WAS YOUR THINKPAN DAMAGED AS A WIGGLER? DO YOU JUST NOT KNOW HOW TO FOLLOW SIMPLE-ASS GODDAMN DIRECTIONS?  
EB: um.  
CG: DON'T TALK TO VRISKA, I SAID. DON'T LET VRISKA TOUCH YOU, I SAID.  
CG: AND NOW YOU'RE WAXING PALE AS A BULGEGOBBLING WAX LIGHTING CYLINDER FOR HER.  
CG: WELL THAT'S JUST FUCKING FINE.  
CG: I SAID I'D HELP WITH YOUR SHITPANNED FAILURE-ENDEAVOR AND THAT'S WHAT I'M GODDAMN WELL GOING TO DO.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] sent ectoBiologist [EB] the file "trollelizabethtaylorfilmography.trar" --  
CG: YOU'LL NEED TO DOWNLOAD TROLL WINRAR TO OPEN THAT FILE. I'M ASSUMING YOU DON'T ALREADY HAVE ANY OF THESE BECAUSE YOU'RE A FUCKING PHILISTINE WHO THINKS SHITTING HIMSELF AND THEN FILMING THE RESULTS COUNTS AS GOOD CINEMA.  
CG: TROLL ELIZABETH TAYLOR HAS DONE SOME OF THE MOST POIGNANT AND MOVING BLACKROM FILMS IN CINEMATIC HISTORY. YOU'LL NEED TO WATCH ALL OF THOSE BECAUSE VRISKA IS SHITHIVE MAGGOTS INSANE AND YOU NEED TO BE PREPARED FOR THE CONSEQUENCES OF HER EVER FILLING HER CONCUPISCENT QUADRANTS.  
EB: um, karkat...  
CG: AND THIS IS YOUR REQUIRED READING.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] sent ectoBiologist [EB] the file "READTHISASSHOLE.pdf" --  
CG: I DON'T EXPECT YOU TO HAVE READ "IN WHICH A MENTALLY CHALLENGED YET PHYSICALLY STRONG RUSTBLOOD AND HIS YELLOWBLOOD MOIRAIL DREAM OF OWNING THEIR OWN SUSTENANCE FARM BUT ARE THWARTED AT EVERY TURN BY A VARIETY OF CAUSES, INCLUDING THE JEALOUS PROTEGE OF THEIR HIGHBLOOD EMPLOYER, THE PROTEGE'S BORED AND LONELY KISMESIS, THE RUSTBLOOD'S OBSESSION WITH SOFT OBJECTS, AND THE THREAT OF THE CULLING DRONES; INCLUDES MULTIPLE QUADRANT FLIPS, BLACKROM INFIDELITY, DETAILED ANIMAL DEATH, AND ONE MERCY-CULLING," BUT NOW'S AS GOOD A TIME TO START AS ANY.  
EB: karkat, i'm really happy that you've sent me all this stuff...  
EB: but i was wondering if you could send me equius's trollhandle, maybe?  
CG: ...  
CG: MOTHER GRUB'S VENOM GLANDS, PLEASE DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE GOING AFTER HIM, TOO.  
CG: HE'S EMOTIONALLY STUNTED ENOUGH WITHOUT ADDING YOUR FUCKED-UP HUMAN QUADRANTLESS ROMANCE TO THE MIX.  
EB: i just wanted to talk to him about vriska!  
CG: FINE. WHATEVER. I GIVE UP. I HAVE LITERALLY LOST THE ABILITY TO CARE. SEE, LOOK, THERE IT GOES! FLYING OFF INTO THE HIDEOUS HUMAN SUNSET. WOW, LOOK AT IT GO! IT’S SO FUCKING FAST!  
EB: are you okay?  
CG: I  
CG: YEAH. I'M FINE. PEACHY.  
EB: because you know i'm here if you ever need to talk!  
CG: YOU GODDAMN PALESLUT.  
CG: IF YOU EVER SAY THAT TO ME FACE TO FACE I'LL CLAW YOUR SHITTING EYES OUT, DO YOU HEAR ME? I'VE ALREADY GOT A MOIRAIL AND HE IS THE BEST MOIRAIL A TROLL COULD EVER HOPE FOR.  
CG: EQUIUS'S TROLLHANDLE IS CENTAURSTESTICLE.  
CG: NOW GET THE FUCK OFF MY SCREEN.  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked the fuck out of ectoBiologist [EB]

You close your laptop with a sigh. Maybe that’s enough chatting for right now? You think you’ll just send Equius an email instead.

JOHN: hey equius! it's john, from the trollquest session last night? i wanted to ask you a few questions because of the whole thing that happened with vriska. karkat told me a little bit about her and how she grew up, and i know he has a moirail-person too, but he mentioned earlier that you and your moirail are pretty much the best there is! so i was wondering if you have any advice for someone who might be considering asking vriska if maybe she needs someone to look out for her and keep her from doing such awful things all the time. i know this is sort of sudden and out of the blue, but i really appreciated how you handled her being so rude, and also i'm really glad that we get to play together! i think you're pretty cool, and maybe sometime we can spar together? i promise to take it easy on you! heheheh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkat is, of course, sending John "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" and "Cleopatra." The book is troll "Of Mice and Men."


	5. Author: Make terrible aspect-based puns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning: small, flashing gifs are used at the very end of this chapter.

**> Equius: Panic and seek advice.**

If there is anything that you are utterly certain of in this world, truly and unabashedly confident in, it is that a. Nepeta will always be your moirail, and b. Karkat Vantas is the undisputed king of romantic advice.

You yourself have never paid much attention to your other quadrants, nor, truthfully, the quadrants of others. Were this Alternia, you would have been culled sweeps ago for your inability to produce a viable concupiscent interest. Luckily, this is not Alternia, and no one has been culled for failing to provide enough genetic material to the drones for many decades.

This does not change the fact that Karkat has mastered the art of advising the pitylorn.

Feeling exceedingly foolish, you don your sunglasses and your wide-brimmed hat, and then make a dash from your hivestem to Karkat’s, two streets over. It is almost three o’clock, and any troll with a proper sleep cycle ought to be in their recuperacoon right now, resting before their evening classes. These days, however, ‘proper’ is a relative term when it comes to nocturnal versus diurnal activities. More and more trolls have taken humans are moirails, matesprits, friends...even kismeses, which has, in turn, led to increasingly bizarre fashion choices, including the return of the parasol, and, of course, your ludicrously foolish hat. At least it keeps the sun off your face.

You take every back street and narrow side-path you know of, certain beyond certainty that you have already reached your limit re. human acquaintances, at least for the time being. Luckily, you encounter only a handful of people, and them several yards away from you, which you find soothing. You reach Karkat’s hivestem without incident, and then stand a respectful distance from the door until a yellowblood, decked out in shades and a hat even larger than yours, returns from her excursion outside and deigns to let you in with her ID card. You thank her; she rolls her eyes and leaves you in the lobby area.

Far be it for you to say that the hemospectrum was perfect, but sometimes you think that maybe Alternia’s nobility had _some_ sort of clue as to what they were doing.

And then you remember that, were humans of the sort to allow the caste system to continue, you likely would never have met Nepeta. Or Tavros, or Karkat, or...her. You shudder, delicately, and then make your way through the winding halls until you reach Karkat’s personal hive.

You knock, extremely gently; you know he’s awake, because before you left you saw him log on to Trollian. Sure enough, there is extravagant cursing inside, and then the door opens an inch to reveal one squinting grey eye. “Equius?” The door opens a little wider. “What the fuck are you doing here? It’s...I don’t even know what time it is. Too fucking early.”

“Do not try to deceive me, Vantas, I saw you log on to Trollian. May I come in?”

Karkat hesitates, but then nods and holds the door for you. You sidle past him, careful not to bump or otherwise touch him, lest you cause unfortunate damage.

He has apparently abandoned his respiteblock in favor of his socialblock; there is a pile in front of the television, consisting primarily of DVD cases and blankets. The screen is paused on Troll Gerard Butler’s exceedingly handsome face (you are not ashamed to admit this). “You were watching movies?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He disappears into his respiteblock for a moment, and then returns carrying several more blankets and two pillows. These he dumps onto the ground beside his own pile. “Here, make yourself comfortable. Now, will you tell me what the hell you’re doing here at three in the afternoon?”

He burrows back into his pile, and you follow suit, swaddling yourself in blankets until you feel secure and welcome. It is not the same sort of feeling you get from Nepeta, that of returning _home_ , but it would be remiss of you to ever imply that Karkat is not, himself, an exceedingly fine moirail.

You rather suddenly realize how this might look to someone else. “Is Mr. Makara in?”

“Jesus panfucking... _no_ , Gamzee’s sleeping in his own hive. Which you should be doing, except, _oh look_ , you’re sitting on my floor getting ready to whine about some trivial hoofbeastshit. Equius, even if I _was_ pale for you I’d never act on it. You know why? _Our moirails would fucking kill me._ Now spit it out, I’m in the middle of a Troll Hilary Swank marathon.”

“I believe I am flushed for someone.”

 _That_ stops Karkat in his tracks. You feel momentarily gratified for having discovered the secret to silencing him. Then he gropes around for the remote and turns off the television. “Okay, yeah, Troll Hilary Swank can wait. You’re _what_?”

“Flushed. For someone. It is difficult to say, I have not had feelings of this type since...”

“Since Aradia, I know.” Even mentioning her by name is difficult. For all of you. You were only six when it happened, but her death impacted your entire group, more or less. You and Sollux most of all. Karkat runs his claws back through his hair and sighs. “Okay. So, first thing’s first: do you pity them?”

“That is why it is difficult to say. We have not yet spent much time together, though we have exchanged correspondence for nearly a week now, and...”

“Do you _pity_ them, asshole? Answer the goddamn question.”

“Yes. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“He is exceedingly strong. More so than I could ever have suspected. I believe he might even be able to hold his own in a fight against me.”

“So you’re flipping black?”

“That is the conundrum I face! My feelings for him are not caliginous at all! I thought at first they might be, but...he is so strong, and yet so innocent. It is a most perplexing combination.”

“Okay, I’ll make it really simple for you, because apparently while I wasn’t looking your fucking sponge melted and dribbled out your ears, which, by the way, doesn’t surprise me in the least. You find your whatever-crush crying alone in his room. What do you do?”

“I attempt to distract him with my strength. Perhaps a friendly sparring match, or...” You feel your cheeks cool, slightly. “...something more...physical.”

Karkat makes an angry noise and burrows further into his pile, until only his head is showing. “Holy merciless shit, Equius, if you sweat all over my blankets I will kick your ass so hard your _Ancestor_ will feel it.” With some effort, you reign your thoughts in. “So, definitely concupiscent, then? No shooshing urges?”

“None whatsoever. I do not think he needs to be mediated at all; he is remarkably well-adjusted. He is, in fact, considering becoming a moirail himself.”

“He...what? Equius, is this someone I know.”

Oh, fiddlesticks. You have possibly given yourself away. “I...no?”

“Don’t lie, bulgebite, we’re talking about _John_ , aren’t we? Fuck, the kid hasn’t even known you all a week and already he’s potentially filled two quadrants! How the hell does a goddamn human have better luck in romance than me?!”

“I was under the impression that you and Terezi...”

Karkat scowls. “Yeah, well...maybe. A little. Whatever, none of your business. So. John.”

“Yes. John.”

“Fuck. Do you even know how human romance works?”

“It’s...different?”

“Of course it’s different, you mentally deficient wiggler, they’re a totally different _species_.” He scrubs at his hair again, this time going so far as to rub his cheeks and forehead as well. “Okay, so, they don’t do quadrants.”

“What.”

“Yep.”

“How _lewd_.”

“Wow, culturally insensitive much? Human emotions span the full spectrum of troll ones, except they’re just not as neatly defined. What humans call ‘love’ is sort of equivalent to our ‘pity,’ and a lot of the time their relationships are a combination of matespritship and moirallegiance.”

“I cannot believe the filth that is coming out of your mouth.”

“Abandon your high-blooded sensibilities, because it gets worse. Most humans practice this thing called ‘monogamy,’ which means it’s only socially acceptable to have one romantic attachment at a time.”

Oh. _Nepeta_.

“That settles things quite neatly,” you say, feeling a bit faint. Young pity! Crushed, tragically, beneath the heel of human social niceties! “I must consider my moirail before myself.”

“Equius.”

“John, and yourself as well, shall have no problems--”

“Equius, shut up.”

“--with me during our weekly sessions of...”

“Goddamnit, Equius, will you _shut the hell up_ for five nookwhiffing seconds? Holy shit. Okay, use your flush-addled thinkpan and remember back to Saturday. What happened?”

“We...played our session?”

“And?”

“And...John mediated between Vriska and everyone else?”

“At which point he...?”

“...Rolled a twenty?”

Karkat growls. His annoyance makes the pile quiver slightly. “Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? He came to me for advice about being someone’s moirail! And then he went to _you_ for advice! Is any of this making sense yet?”

“I...”

“It means he doesn’t have a problem with _quadrants_ , you awful, sweaty excuse for a sentient being!”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“Do...” You swallow. “Do you believe that he...may be...interested?”

“I think if you don’t fucking _try_ , you won’t fucking _know_.” With that said, Karkat burrows abruptly deeper into his pile, and emerges triumphantly a few seconds later, his mobile communications device in hand. He wriggles through his nest of blankets and DVDs until he is in a position where you can see over his shoulder, and then he opens Trollian.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling ectoBiologist [EB]

CG: HEY.  
CG: HEY.  
CG: EGBERT.  
CG: GODDAMNIT EGBERT ANSWER YOUR FUCKING MESSAGES.  
EB: oh hey karkat!  
CG: THANK TROLL JEGUS AND ALL THE LITTLE WIGGLERS, YOU'RE ACTUALLY BEING COOPERATIVE FOR ONCE.  
CG: I HAVE A QUESTION AND I REQUIRE THAT YOU ANSWER IT WITH A MINIMUM OF JACKASSERY AND SILLINESS.  
CG: ARE YOU CAPABLE OF THAT OR DO I NEED TO WAIT WHILE YOU FETCH AN ADULT?  
EB: hahah, no i'm good! what's your question?  
CG: WHAT IS YOUR PREFERENCE  
CG: CONCUPISCENTLY?  
EB: um?  
CG: RIGHT, I FORGOT THAT HUMANS NEED TO HAVE WORDS LONGER THAN TWO SYLLABLES SOUNDED OUT TO THEM.  
CG: DO YOU LIKE  
CG: *BOYS*  
CG: OR  
CG: *GIRLS*?  
CG: SELECT ONE, DO NOT COLLECT 200, DO NOT PASS GO.  
EB: oh wow  
CG: ANSWER THE GODDAMN QUESTION BEFORE I REACH THROUGH YOUR COMPUTER SCREEN AND CHOKE YOU WITH THE ALL-CONSUMING FORCE OF MY RAGE.  
EB: can't i select both? i mean girls are really nice and i am definitely not a homosexual!  
EB: buuuuuuuut...  
EB: i guess i might not be entirely heterosexual either?  
EB: because i would totally not say no to like, hugh jackman!  
EB: or i guess someone who is just nice and likes me for being me!  
CG: EXCELLENT.  
CG: THAT'S ALL I NEEDED, AND FUCK YOU VERY MUCH FOR MAKING A SIMPLE QUESTION AND ANSWER SESSION AS DIFFICULT AS PULLING FANGS.  
EB: um can i ask what this was  
CG: NOPE.  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked ectoBiologist [EB]

Karkat whips his hand back and flings the mobile at your chest. It bounces harmlessly off of your sternum and falls back into Karkat’s pile. “There. Are you happy? Because you fucking well should be! Jesus, the things I do for you people.”

“I...” You feel abruptly...overwhelmed. You do not pity Karkat, but one cannot live on Earth without having the concept of ‘friendship’ thrust upon them, even if, like yourself, they have grown up in one of the troll enclaves. And Karkat is...your friend. Perhaps your best friend, for you socialize little, outside of Nepeta of course, and these gaming sessions have enriched your life in ways that, as little as a perigee ago, would have made no sense to you, but which you now cannot imagine living without. The thought of going weeks--nay, even a single week--without seeing your companions causes your bloodpusher to thump unhappily in your thoracic organ cavity. “Karkat, I do not know how to thank you without resorting to meaningless flattery.”

“Flattery will get you a lot of places, fucknuts.”

Psst!

You! Yeah, you.

C’mere.

“Is it just me,” Karkat says, “or does it feel somehow lighter in here?” 


	6. Super Special Awesome Interlude: ~Vriska "Badass" Serket Edition~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would there be any interest in an ask blog on Tumblr dedicated to this universe? There's a whole lotta stuff that goes unsaid (and only some of which will be dealt with in Roll for Initiative's prequel). Let me know in the comments, maybe?

**> Vriska: Tentatively put some irons in the fire.**

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you live with three other trolls in an off-campus hive. That you have managed to keep yourself from messily culling them for as long as you have is indeed, as Karkat’s moirail would say, a motherfucking miracle, especially considering the fact that you are not a social creature by nature. This is because when you were six sweeps old, your lusus became too large and too dangerous to keep in your public hiveblock; the human government had to come and take her away someplace. You like to think that they didn’t kill her, and instead kept her as an interrogation tool for the CIA, because that’s what she would have liked. Whether they killed her or not had no bearing on your living situation, though; alive or dead, you were still left without a lusus to care for you. You suddenly found yourself with a lawyer and a bunch of different advisors from the Alternian Embassy, all telling you to do this, do that, this person will take you in or that person would be a poor fit for you...

And you just...couldn’t... _stand it_. And even though your lawyer said not to, you got yourself declared an emancipated minor. You illegally got a job at six and a half sweeps old and you put yourself through human schoolfeeding because that was cheaper, without your lusus to act as collateral for potential failure, and then you found a better job and decided to put yourself through college.

This is because you are simply the best there is at everything that matters.

The problem is that what ‘matters’ keeps changing on you.

~

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling adiosToreador [AT]

AG: Tavros.

AG: Taaaaaaaavros!

AG: Are you going to block me again? Laaaaaaaame.

AG: :::;)

AG: Come on, don't be a stupid wiggler! I want to have an actual convers8ion with you.

AT: aRE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO, uH, HARASS ME LIKE THIS?

AT: i MEAN, iT IS NOT AS IF, yOU KNOW, wE DON’t HAVE SOME SEVERE DIFFERENCES OR ANYTHING,

AT: yOU HAVING PUSHED ME OFF A CLIFF, aND ALL,

AG: Why not let 8ygones 8e 8ygones, Pupa?  
AG: You're totally more interesting without functioning legs anyways.

AT: wOW, i CANNOT BELIEVE THAT YOU SERIOUSLY JUST sAID THAT,

AT: lIKE i HONESTLY THOUGHT, yOU COULD NOT GET ANY WORSE, aND YET,

AT: yOU JUST SAID WHAT YOU SAID, aND YOU BECAME WORSE,

AT: iT WAS LIKE, tHE WORLD'S WORST MAGIC TRICK,

AG: Shut up! I'm coming to you in honest need for advice and this is how you tr8t me?

AT: tR8T?

AG: Treat!

AG: Also, shut up!!!!!!!!

AG: I have a serious fucking question for you and I would like it if you didn't giggle like an idiotic human su8wiggler while I'm asking it.

AT: i CAN’t MAKE ANY, uM, pROMISES,

AG: Well I guess that's the 8est I can hope for. ::::\

AG: My question is:  


AG: What is it like to have a human in one of your quadrants?

AT: oH WOW,

AT: aND YOU’rE ASKING ME, bECAUSE?

AG: Don’t play dum8! Everyone knows you’re flushed for that guy in Texas!

AT: eVERYONE?

AG: Eeeeeeeevryone! So spill!

AT: oKAY, uH, i DON’t EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START, rEALLY,

AT: bECAUSE i AM ASSUMING, THAT THE HUMAN YOU ARE REFERENCING,

AT: iS ONE jOHN eGBERT,

AT: aND MAY i JUST REMIND YOU, tHAT YOU HAVE ONLY KNOWN HIM FOR MAYBE TWO WEEKS, aND,

AG: You’re not my lusus, Toreadum8ass, you can’t control who I d8!

AG: And 8esides, it’s not like I’m actively considering it. This is just for shits and giggles! Like........a prank! John likes pranks!

AT: bE THAT, aS IT MAY, iF YOU AREN’t GOING TO TAKE jOHN’s PALE ADVANCES SERIOUSLY,

AT: i DON’t THINK i WILL BE ABLE TO HELP YOU,

AT: aT LEAST, nOT IN THE WAY YOU SEEM TO WANT ME TO,

AT: wHICH IS AS A CO-cONSPIRATOR,

AG: ........

AT: i KNOW THAT THINGS HAVEN’t ALWAYS BEEN, vERY EASY FOR YOU, vRISKA,

AT: aND, dESPITE ALL THE TERRIBLE THINGS YOU’vE DONE, i STILL LIKE YOU AND WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND,

AT: eVEN THOUGH YOU MAKE FUN OF MY WHEELED DEVICE, aND CALL ME NAMES, aND EVEN THOUGH YOU KEEP STEALING ALL OF MY HEALTH POTIONS,

AT: i STILL THINK THAT, yOU ARE A LOT OF FUN, aND THAT YOU GIVE ME THINGS i CAN’t GET FROM OTHER PEOPLE,

AT: lIKE i NEVER WOULD HAVE TRIED THAT ROLLER COASTER LAST SUMMER, iF YOU HADN’t TEASED ME UNTIL i AGREED TO IT,

AT: aND YOU WERE RIGHT, iT WAS LIKE FLYING AND i HAD SO MUCH FUN!

AT: sO IT IS BECAUSE i AM YOUR FRIEND, tHAT i WANT YOU TO SERIOUSLY CONSIDER jOHN’s OFFER OF MOIRALLEGIANCE, eVEN IF YOU HAVE ONLY KNOWN HIM A SHORT TIME,

AT: wILL YOU PLEASE DO THAT FOR ME, vRISKA?

AT: pLEASE?

arachnidsGrip [AG] blocked adiosToreador [AT]

arachnidsGrip logged the fuck out!

AT: iS THAT A NO?

arachnidsGrip [AG] did not receive message from adiosToreador [AT]

~

Your name is Vriska and you have never felt like this before. It’s this sort of hot, tickly feeling behind your ocular globes, and you try to breathe in to make the feeling go away, but if anything that just makes it worse. Your nose feels stuffy and your throat is too tight, and then you reach up to touch your face and your claws come away very faintly cerulean, and you think _oh_. And you sit there staring at your hand for what feels like hours but is actually only ten minutes, because this is crying and you have never cried for anything or anyone in your entire life. Even when your lusus was taken away, you didn’t cry.

You always thought feeling sad was a sort of useless thing to do. Nobody stops and helps you because you’re sad! Or if they do, they aren’t the sort of person you want in your life, because that means they’re _weak_ , and weak people don’t get ahead in life. Except now you’re the one who’s feeling sad, you think, and does that mean you’re weak? Are you crying because of what Tavros said, or because of something else?

You stand shakily from your desk and shuffle, like an old woman who has seen too much, over to your ‘cupe. You sit on the edge of it for a while, considering, maybe, just going to sleep and pretending none of this ever happened. You can ignore John. You can ignore Tavros and Karkat, too. You can push them away until they won’t even _think_ of trying to change you, trying to make you _weak_.

_But what about Nepeta and Equius?_

What.

_And what about Gamzee and Karkat?_

You aren’t...no...all right, so what? So what if Gamzee got off the sopor because of Karkat? And so what if Equius once put a guy through a door because he was harassing Nepeta at a bar? That doesn’t mean shit! They’re still _weak_.

Aren’t they?

You bury your face in your palms and your claws in your hair, groaning horribly. All you’ve ever done is be yourself, but what if you’re like Gamzee? What if you’ve just been this extreme version of yourself, rather than the real thing?

You won’t apologize for anything you’ve done. Why the hell should you? You haven’t done anything _wrong_.

But...but maybe...

Maybe you haven’t been doing things precisely right, either?

It’s an hour before you pry yourself away from the ledge of your recuperacoon, returning to your husktop with shaking hands and an aching thinkpan.

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling ectoBiologist [EB]

AG: John?  
AG: It's Vr8ska.  
AG: Can I t8lk to you for a minute?

EB: sure thing! you know you can always talk to me, right? whenever you want!  
AG: I...  
AG: I think I n88d your h8lp.


	7. > Nerds: Grind some exp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned, I made an ask blog for the Nerdstucks universe: http://askthenerdstucks.tumblr.com/  
> Here's hoping it doesn't end up getting deleted due to under-use, eheheh.

**> John: Goggle in disbelief.**

Here is the thing about your love life: _you don’t have one_. But now apparently you have a platonic life-partner and also someone has been leaving you notes? Not creepy ones! No, if they were creepy notes you’d have told someone by now, like Dave, because Dave is really good at giving you advice regarding potentially dangerous situations. When you told him you’d be moving from your relatively sheltered home in the suburbs to San Francisco for school, and not just like on the outskirts but right in the middle of everything, he was the one who express mailed you a spray-can of mace and one of his significantly-less-shitty utility knives. It has a three and a half-inch blade and a pair of scissors!

You leave the mace at home, but you carry the knife with you everywhere. Never mind that if you kicked a dude in the nads his head would probably explode, what with how toned your calves are, it’s really the thought that counts and Dave has thought you were a delicate flower since you were both thirteen.

But whatever. The notes aren’t threatening or suspicious or anything, they’re actually sort of...sweet? They’re, um, _mushy_ , is probably the best word you can use. Full of the sappiest, most heartfelt sweet nothings you have ever seen. You scanned part of one note to send to Rose, who is one of your other friends and who attends a school in New York which is apparently going to integrate troll classes next semester (awesome!), and she said that the handwriting was extremely light and precise, so probably a girl, and also that the sentiments therein seem heartfelt. Extremely so. Is there something you wish to share with the rest of the class, John?

Uh, _no_ , Rose, not really, and then you’d hung up and you could still hear her giggling like ten minutes later.

You carry them with you. They make you feel nice. You think that whoever it is must be someone in one of your classes, because you can’t see anyone in your immediate circle of friends harboring a secret crush on you.

Speaking of!

You text Karkat and receive a HOLD YOUR HOOFBEASTS YOU IMPATIENT SACK OF WRITHING EXCREMENT in return, then you shove your hands in your pockets and rock back and forth, waiting for a few minutes while your friend comes to let you in.

It’s not Karkat who opens the door, though.

It’s Vriska.

You’ve talked a lot with her over PesterChum for the past five days, but your schedules are so different that you both have to make an honest effort if you want to see each other any time other than the weekend. It has been three weeks since you first met her and only five days since she agreed to let you be her moirail, and already you think you can see a difference, maybe? Like, she hasn’t stopped being abrasive or snarky or a little bit awful, but...

She seems calmer, in a way. Less likely to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation.

“Hey,” she says, and you can hear the 8s in her voice and you can see in her rounded shoulders and the way she tucks her arms the imprint her spidermom left on her before she was suddenly alone. You aren’t sure what a troll would be feeling towards her, were they in your shoes, but she is so beautiful and she is so alone, and you just want to sit her on your sofa and play Disney movies for her, and then maybe make her some mac&cheese.

Your smile is probably blinding. You could illuminate caves with your teeth. “Hey! It’s good to see you!”

And then you lean forward and hug her. She tolerates it for like twenty whole seconds! She even sort of twitches her arms like she might want to reciprocate, which you figure is pretty massive progress, all things considered! Then she goes “ _Bluh!_ ” and you laugh, and you’re still laughing as the door alarm goes off and Vriska grabs a fistful of your hoodie and hauls you inside.

Everyone is gathered around the table when you enter, the map is already set up and everyone’s figures are in place (even your shiny new one!), and so you sit down next to Equius and Vriska sits across from you and you bask in the feeling of having friends with whom you can do awesome stuff like play fun games!

Equius takes off his sunglasses; you don’t see him without them very often, it has something to do with bluebloods having different eyes (Vriska told you she used to have something called ‘vision eightfold,’ whatever that means) and also with looking super cool, but now he peeks at you and smiles, sort of tentatively, so you smile back. Equius has blue eyes, like you, but his are so deep and solid that it looks like someone used the ‘fill’ feature in MS Paint, this impenetrable indigo blue that makes you think, not of oceans, but the dark fathoms of space. His hair is up, today, in a mid-rise ponytail, all pulled back from his high forehead and he’s wearing a tank top and these simple black jeans, and wow, he looks different? Like he’s trying to impress someone, but look casual while he does it!

“All right, now that everyone’s here,” Karkat says, and throws a venomous glance your way. Vriska titters. “Let’s see if we can finish this dungeon sometime within the next millennia. You’re standing beside the Red River Gorge, a mile outside of Whitemoon. To the north, the turrets of Whitemoon Castle obscure the horizon. To the south, a massive forest looms. To the east and west are the Saltlick Wastes. Even from this distance, you can hear the cries of alarm from Whitemoon Castle; your rescue of the Tsaresse has not gone unnoticed.”

“Well maybe if _someone_ hadn’t let a fucking pack of barkbeasts loose!”

“Okay, that was to save Grathnar, and also, uh, fuck you.”

Vriska lets fly with a double bird, middle fingers blazing, and you snicker. Tavros shrugs.

Equius is still staring at you. It is beginning to feel...not weird, but _important_.

You clear your throat. “Okay, so we need to get to the Hidden City. Who has a world map?”

There is a collective shuffling of papers, until eventually Tavros unearths a official TrollQuest Mainland map. You mark your current location with a Starburst that you find in your pocket. Equius produces a paperclip, and you use that to mark the Hidden City. You measure the distance, and judge it to be about a six day journey on horseback, several weeks if you’re walking and the weather stays nice; Karkat deems this a suitable estimate.

“So, how are we going to get there?”

“I say we sneak back into Whitemoon, steal some hoofbeasts, and set the city on fire.” This, predictably, comes from Vriska. You nudge her with your foot beneath the table, but very gently, and she laughs. “Aw, c’mon, John! Have a little fun, raise a little hell!”

“Lawful neutral,” you say, and she sulks a bit. Tavros clears his throat.

“I could, maybe, cast Charm Animal, if we come across any, in the wild.”

“And as a barbarian I am possessed of Fast Movement; I would not require a mount in order to maintain our pace. Or a rough approximation of it, anyways.”

“Let’s figure out the path we have to take, first,” you say, and tap the world map. The forest that Karkat mentioned is called the Coldwood, and it is, as he said, _immense_. It’s several miles wide and several more long, and while there are a few marked settlements around it (and a few, interestingly enough, inside of it), it’s pretty well uninhabited. Not by civilized peoples, anyways. It’s large enough that it would be really easy to escape Jadeclaw’s soldiers and monsters, even with the Tsaresse in tow, and the Hidden City is to the southeast, so it’s not even out of your--

Someone’s foot brushes against your leg. You glance around, even though you don’t really need to look to identify that particular careful gentleness, and, yep, Equius is staring at you again. Are you in his space? You try smiling, and he smiles back. One of his teeth is broken, but it’s less weird and more charming. You rather like Equius; you haven’t spent as much time with him as you have with Karkat or Vriska (for no-obvious reasons), but maybe you should?

You playfully nudge his foot back. His smile could rival the sun.

Right. Time to get back to business.

“We should go through the Coldwood,” you say, and Karkat groans.

“That place is crawling with, uh, nasty monsters,” Tavros says. “And we’re still, level three, and also, your healing spells are limited.”

“I don’t really feel like having to roll a new character,” Vriska adds. “And there’s not a lot of sweet loot to be found in some crummy old forest.”

You gear up to have a civil discussion about why you think the Coldwood is your best bet, when, abruptly, Equius puts his hand down in the table. It’s sharp enough and strong enough that the wood creaks a little, and while Karkat throws a minor hissy fit over inconsiderate douchenozzles wrecking his furniture, Equius peers at everyone over the bridge of his long ( _elegant_ wait what?) nose. “I am inclined to agree with John in this matter.”

“Aw, man.”

Vriska looks like she’s rallying herself for a full-on screaming match with Karkat as her furniture-adoring support, but you neatly cut her off at the pass by leaning over the table and patting her hand. She snarls, but subsides a little. “That’s the most bulgelicking stupid thing you’ve said today, Equius. Why the hell should we go through the Coldwood when there’s everything to lose and nothing to gain?”

And even though Equius obviously doesn’t like confrontation--Karkat mentioned something about him being really strong and getting angry easily because he’s a blueblood, and you know Vriska so you can sort of see it--he still tilts his head up a bit and squares his shoulders and suddenly he looks _huge_. Not just large, but massive, and so solid that you could bounce a bowling ball off him and it wouldn’t leave a dent. And okay, you’ll admit it, you’ve got sort of a thing for people who are taller and bigger than you. You’re not exactly short, in fact you’re pretty much average, thanks very much, but you saw Gwendoline Christie in Game of Thrones and then Jade Skyped you from China and told you to watch Chuck, so you did and you saw Zachary Levi and you went _welp, that’s a thing, then_. And right now Equius is _all_ sorts of big and powerful and you go a little dry in the mouth while he talks, gesturing elegantly but forcefully. “Do you not understand the precarious situation we find ourselves in? We do not merely need to escort the Tsaresse to the Hidden City, we must also do our level best to avoid Jadeclaw and her creatures! If we traverse the Saltlick Wastes, we will be spotted immediately! If we try to loop around Whitemoon and then travel south, we will inevitably be caught! Our only option to avoid direct confrontation is to pass through the Coldwood and take our chances with the monsters there. Do not forget that we have an advantage in Briarheart’s ability to commune with animals and his Natural Knowledge skill, and he and I both possess the Survival skill. Between the two of us, we can very easily traverse the Coldwood without undue problems, even with you and Song in the party.”

“Are you saying that I’m a _liability_?”

“I am saying that your knowledge lies in bartering and pilfering, while ours lies in nature! You are at an obvious disadvantage, but that does not mean that I and Briarheart cannot safely see all of us through the forest.”

“Guys, guys!” You stand, trying to wave your arms between Equius and Vriska. Karkat looks like he’s going to blow a vein, his eyes are so wide, but he doesn’t do anything, so you move yourself around the table and you pet Vriska’s hair and pat her face like Karkat told you to do the other day, and you smile at Equius over her head to show that it’s okay. The tension visibly bleeds out of him, and you can feel Vriska relaxing under your palms and your fingertips, so you finish it with a gentle pat to the top of her head. A low rumbling sound comes from her throat, a jangling, almost musical noise, starting and stopping in fits; everyone stares at her. Her eyes gradually open.

“Not a word,” she warns. Equius, if anything, looks more mollified than ever.

“I would not presume. I, too, have a moirail.”

“Same,” Karkat says. Tavros only shrugs.

“I might be, uh, flushed, a bit, for someone, and when I talk to him, just sometimes, he’ll say something and, uh, I’ll start, you know. Because I’m so happy.”

Vriska is sulking, now, but no longer ready to start a fight. You know that you won’t always be there to prevent her from doing that. In fact, you kind of don’t want to be? Vriska picking fights is akin to other people having hobbies! You don’t want to change who she is, because you think that’s wrong; you just want her to have this safe place, with you and Karkat and Tavros and Equius, and you don’t want her to actively try and ruin it, because she needs other people, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She needs someone other than you to see how clever she is, and how awesome and pretty, and who better than your mutual friends?

Equius is looking at you again, his head tilted down a little, now, and his eyes are so, so blue, and you think about the notes that someone has been slipping you, underneath the door to your apartment and into your backpack, notes left for you at your seat as you arrive at class, the sweetest things you have ever read telling you how brave and strong and attractive you are, and you feel a little bit guilty. There is obviously someone out there who really, really likes you! And you would like to give them a chance before you go and start crushing on your supertall friend who might not even swing that way, you aren’t really sure how it works for trolls. There was an Alternian biology course at your high school, but it was optional and you never thought you’d have a need for it.

“Okay,” Vriska says. “Okay, we can go through the Coldwood. But! I reserve the right to spit on your _fucking corpses_ when you all get eaten by terrible monsters.”

“As is your due,” Equius says, and he is still smiling at you, and you think _well, why not_. Maybe you shouldn’t be crushing, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly! So, as you walk back around the table and sit down again, you lean a bit closer to him than normal and say, “Do you like martial arts? I like martial arts! There’s a dojang like ten minutes from here on Powell Street, you can come by Tuesday and watch or maybe even spar with me?”

He side-eyes you, but you think that’s just because he’s sweating again, and you know that it embarrasses him sometimes.

“I...” He swallows. “I would very much enjoy testing my strength against yours, John.”

Everyone is staring at you. Karkat looks like he is about to crap butterflies, seriously, he’s got the ridiculous anime eyes and everything! You think maybe he is getting the wrong impression, but before you can correct him Vriska snaps her fingers, and you remember that you are playing a game, and that you have a Tsaresse to rescue!


	8. > FIGHT SCENE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the Teen rating comes in! If non-explicit 100d thoughts aren't your thing, when you reach "You could have commanded" skip down until "and then proceeded to..." at the very end.
> 
> I'm also taking some liberties with the Hapkido Institute. Apologies to anyone in SanFran who has been/learns/teaches there.

**> Equius: Attend bizarre, non-rhyming Human slam poetry event with John.**

When Karkat told you that humans value pity-letters as much as trolls, you could hardly believe your oracular sponge clots. And indeed, when the first letter you placed in John’s backpack failed to elicit a response, you assumed that Karkat was wrong, for once, and that it was a foolish endeavor that you would be wise to cease at once. But then you had seen John pull the scrap of paper out, looking at it, re-reading it...and smiling as he did so.

So you gave him another. And another, and another, My dearest John, would that I could use common words to express the depth of my attraction to you. How I long to stroke your pale skin; is it as soft as it looks? Would you flinch away at my touch, as so many others have done in the past? You are like the finest of wines, John, in that every instance I am lucky enough to lay eyes upon your face you grow STRONGER and sweeter to the palate, and so on, and so forth. Karkat gave you tips on phrasing (and also how to prevent your quirk from appearing quite so monstrously obvious), but beyond that the words--and the sentiment contained therein--are entirely yours, and embarrassingly heartfelt. You are frustratingly aware of the fact that you know very little about John beyond what your infatuation tells you: that he is strong, that he has withstood your touch multiple times, that he has hair like fine, black wires and eyes that glimmer with mischief almost always. You knew before that he practiced some sort of fighting style, but now you know that it’s called _hapkido_ , and that John is a _second dan_ , which means that he could be considered a teacher in his own right, if he were of the mind to try.

You know, through Karkat, that he likes Earth movies of a specific style. You watched City of Angels last night, with Human Nicolas Cage, and you wept a little. You have come to the conclusion that John has excellent taste in cinema.

And now you are standing outside of the Hapkido Institute, your broad-brimmed hat hanging down your back by a strap around your neck, and your mobile communications device in your hand.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering centaursTesticle [CT] at 19:34 --

EB: hey equius! it's john!   
EB: i know it's early but i'm going to head to the dojang so i can talk with my chung sah nim.   
EB: (that means she’s higher than me in rank!)   
EB: anyways the address is 2125 powell st. and you can't really miss the building, there's a big sign out front and everything!   
EB: i got special permission for us to use the training hall, since there aren't any classes this time of night, and sumi really wants to meet you, so that probably helped!   
EB: okay so i'm gonna head out now and i really hope i see you there!!!!!!!! :D

It is a small, somewhat plain building sandwiched between two others, one of which is labeled as ‘The Cheese School,’ but, as promised, there is a sign out front: _The Hapkido Institute of San Francisco_. You pocket your mobile and enter before you can change your mind.

There is a very small lobby, containing a desk and a human computer, but the majority of the single-floored building consists of a large, open area, padded with mats on the floor and punctuated by weighted bags hanging from the ceiling, which you can see only barely through an open door on the far wall. It would be an excellent place to hold a slam poetry event, like the ones you attended in the enclave when you were young, but humans apparently do not believe in combining rhyming and sparring, so you have not had the chance to practice for several sweeps.

You have had to make due with merely sparring.

There is a human woman sitting behind the desk, and she stares, wide-eyed, at you. Then she taps a few keys on her computer and says, “You’re John’s friend, right?”

“That is correct.”

“That is so _cool_. He’s never brought a friend here before! Let alone a...” She trails off, but it’s painfully obvious that she has never met a troll before. You don’t find this unusual; you yourself had never met a human until John. Though your species live in relative harmony, that peace is largely maintained by necessary separation. The highblood movement to preserve Alternian culture and blood-purity, headed by the Condesce and her assistants in human government, meant that sweeps had passed before the first attempts at integration were even proposed. UTAU, at this point, is the latest and greatest, though you have heard that other schools across the nation are beginning to make similar attempts at multiculturalism. It brings with it its own set of problems: with integration comes exposure to humans who had previously only ever heard of trolls. You have heard that, in less liberal cities, speciesism is rampant.

The desk-woman types some more into her computer and then waves you back, saying, “Teacher Pak said it’s all good!” You thank her (she fans herself when she thinks you cannot see), and then let yourself into the open space you had glimpsed behind her.

There are two people in the training hall, what John called a ‘dojang’: a small, slender woman with pin-straight black hair, and John himself. They are sparring, and you pause at the edge of the mats to observe. She is nearly a foot shorter than he is, but she clearly outmatches him in terms of speed and sheer experience. She moves like a slitherbeast, in round and rhythmic motions that seem designed to confuse and obfuscate. John, as a counterpoint, is more obvious, but also more aggressive. For every hit she dodges, he lands yet another, his fists striking her forearms and shoulders like a drumbeat. She seems to prefer sweeping kicks, attempting to get John on the ground where she can pin him; John laughs whenever she manages to trip him up, but he never goes down entirely.

It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

The woman spots you first, shouting “Kalyeo!” and then taking a step back. John mirrors her, crossing his arms at the wrist and breathing out slowly, and she shouts again, “Kyung nae!” The two of them bow at the waist, John with his eyes closed, and for a minute he looks like a statue, very still and very quiet. Then his eyes snap open again and he bounds over to you, all barkbeast-like enthusiasm and little to no regard for personal space. He hangs off your arm, chattering, and you are so smitten with him that you think you might perish of it.

He pulls you along onto the mats, where he introduces the woman who is his instructor, the ‘chung sah nim’ he mentioned in his texts. “Equius, this is Teacher Pak Sumi. She’s one of the fourth dans here, and she’s been really good about taking me on even though I had to transfer all my credentials and--”

“It has been an honor to work with Sun Bae Nim John,” she interrupts, and bows deeply, this time to you. Your forehead breaks out in a sweat; it is only proper that you are being bowed to, of course, considering your blood color and also the fact that you are so unbelievably STRONG, but no human has ever bothered to follow protocol before, and you find yourself at a loss as to what you should--

John gently nudges you at the small of your back, his warm little hand lingering, a soft pressure. Oh. You think he wants you to bow back.

That makes sense.

You bow, your hair falling around your face, and Sumi titters and then digs through a pocket in her uniform until she comes up with a hairband. “Here,” she says, offering it to you. “If you will be sparring, you must tie your hair back. It would be an unfair advantage to John. Did you stretch already?”

What does stretching have to do with anything? Well, you walked here. Perhaps that counts. “Yes?” You pull your hair into a low ponytail while John and Sumi dart around you like small insects, discussing in low, joyous tones things that you have no idea about, like uniforms and stances and rules. You can respect rules; slam poetry has a fairly rigid set of them.

Finally, their fluttering movements stop and Sumi is standing in front of you again, her eyes peculiar and bright.

“Because you don’t follow a school,” she says, “you can wear your normal clothes.” You weren’t aware that this was a thing that was up for discussion in the first place. “You sparred before?”

“I participated in many slam poetry events when I was...”

“Yes or no, jeja, can you fight?”

You swipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “Yes.”

“Good! This is not a bar fight or combat hapkido, so there are some rules. No biting from either of you, no using horns for you, and if you hear me say ‘gomahn,’ you stop, okay?”

You and John nod.

“Okay! Cha ryuht, John!”

John scrambles to the center of the mats and stands loosely, and you follow suit, removing your sunglasses and hat and leaving them at the edge of the mat for safekeeping. “Kyung nae!” He bows, and you copy him; you can see him grinning at you, eyes sparkling beneath the fringe of his hair. “Choon bi!” He straightens, and assumes an easy, loose stance. You hold your fists up and widen your legs.

“Seijak!” Sumi shouts, and John becomes a whirling dervish of punches and kicks. You have never seen someone move so _fast_ before, and it becomes immediately apparent that the match you saw between him and his teacher was not an actual fight, but merely their warm-up. You raise your forearm in time to block a fist to your jaw, only to receive a knee to your side once your defense is compromised. You don’t think John is strong enough to break any bones, not unless he’s actively _trying_ , but his blows leave a dull ache behind. You think they might even bruise.

It’s the most glorious feeling imaginable. You don’t have to hold back. _You don’t have to hold back_.

He goes to strike you again, this time over your sternum, but you catch his hand in your fist before the blow lands. He looks momentarily startled, and then alarmed as you grapple briefly with him, then heave him over your shoulder. He goes skidding across the mats, catching himself before he hits a wall and then bouncing back to his feet. He doesn’t charge you, which is wise of him, but instead circles like a wary predator. You imagine you could make some pithy remark right about now, about how the noble hoofbeast is possessed of its own defenses, but John doesn’t give you the opportunity. He darts in, kicking at your legs this time, and you’re forced to dance back, ceding some of your ground to him.

“Kihap!” his teacher shouts, and John shouts in return, a wordless battle cry that makes you shiver all over, but in a _good_ way. He uses your distraction to his advantage, knuckles connecting solidly with your right side; you grunt and fall back a little more, and then rally yourself and bring your fists back up.

You dodge his next kick, aimed again at your legs, and use his forward momentum against him, grabbing the back of his uniform and using it like a handle. John flails a little, then goes limp, perhaps hoping his dead weight will be more of a problem for you than for him, but even when he is hanging like a wet rag his weight is inconsequential. You throw him again, and this time you follow, fist smashing into his sternum as he tries to rise. The breath is knocked out of him, but, to his credit, he tries not to let it slow him down. He starts resorting to higher kicks and punches, aiming for your face and head now. You have noted that his upper body strength is greater than his lower, and so avoid his fists more strenuously than you do his feet. Your concentration costs you a little, and you take a few hits to your unprotected sides, bruises blooming beneath your tanktop.

You are both panting now, and you are sweating abominably, but John doesn’t seem to mind. He is grinning, dirty and sharp, and when he launches himself at you it’s completely unexpected. You both go down in a sweaty tangle of limbs, John attempting to get you onto your stomach and you trying to pin his legs with yours, and it is beautiful, so beautiful, he is red-faced with exertion and his muscles are corded and taut as steel, and you can feel the warm expanse of his chest against yours; he is so small, compared to you, so fragile, and yet when he hit you you could _feel_ it. It fills you with this...this _heat_ , like a small sun has taken up residence where your bloodpusher once resided.

You are becoming excited. Inappropriately so. John is staring down at you and he is smiling, and he is so small and precious, yet so powerful at the same time, and...

“Gomahn!”

Oh thank goodness.

John slides off of you and you do everything in your power to keep yourself from leaping away to hide your shameful enthusiasm. The very last thing you want to do is to try and force your feelings on John, especially in such a... _lewdly physical_ way. You learned your lesson with Aradia, which is to say, she pummeled you until you saw you spots and then you had a long conversation about consent and why the hemospectrum was no longer strictly relevant. You took it all to heart, eventually, but...but you weren’t fast enough for her.

You swear that you will be fast enough for John.

No, wait, that didn’t come out quite right.

“Kyung nae!”

John climbs to his feet and bows deeply; you are still lying on the floo, and Sumi stares unnervingly at you until you stand and bow in return. Then she shouts, “Mukyum!” and John folds again to the floor. He crosses his legs and holds his arms against his knees, eyes fluttering shut. His eyelashes are so dark they look like shadows against his cheeks. You awkwardly mimic him, wondering what, precisely, you’re supposed to be doing. After a minute, John cracks one of his eyes open and grins at you, buck-toothed and almost unbearably pitiable.

“Heheh, I guess you don’t do meditation?”

“What?”

“It’s cool! Take deep breaths! And think about the fight, and what you could have done differently!”

You could have commanded that he remain where he was atop you. You could have stripped off his uniform and explored his unfamiliar anatomy with your hands and your mouth, and you wouldn’t have to be worried about breaking him because John is strong enough to take your unhindered touch. You could have ordered his instructor out of the room and then proceeded to...

You stand, sweat beading uncomfortably on your forehead, your arms and shoulders and neck. John stares up at you. “Equius?” He sounds uncertain; you shake your head, your hair slapping against your sweat-damp neck, and abscond without further prompting.

(You return thirty seconds later to retrieve your glasses and your hat, but if John doesn’t mention it then you see no reason why you should, either.)


	9. > Rose: Save the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder that there is an ask blog, etc. etc., check the summary, here, have some Rose.

**> John: Become suspicious.**

It has been a little more than two weeks since you brought Equius to your dojang.

In that time there have been three new notes, one box of assorted chocolates, and a multitude of awkward moments as you’ve tried in vain to figure out who the hell is flirting with you in such a roundabout way. Karkat has started to despair of you, you can see it in his face at your now bi-weekly gaming sessions. Vriska calls you the densest idiot that ever walked the planet, but she also lets you pet her hair and calm her when she gets too worked up, so you figure she’s just trying to help you, in her own way.

You think she might be right. Or she _was_ right, anyways.

Because you think you have a clue. It started the day after the dojang fiasco, when Equius fled for no reason you can think of; you had pestered him online until he’d answered, all cT: D --> It would behoove you to forget my uncouth reaction to your STRONGNESS bluh bluh, _whatever_. You’re obviously not going to forget, because Equius is your friend and you’re starting to really think that you two have a lot in common. Oh my god, the way he _fought_! Even Teacher Pak cornered you afterwards and asked if Equius was available for sparring when you weren’t around (she also asked if he was single, but you are choosing to ignore that part).

Point is, the clue was in how he typed. How he capitalized STRONG. You had been pretty sure you’d seen that before. And of course another clue had been how he looked at you while you had him pinned! He had looked at you like...like you were the only thing in the entire world. Like you pinning him was a privilege.

And so you’ve been collecting clues ever since! You’ve gathered up all of the notes you’ve gotten, some of Equius’s notes for his Advanced Bio-Engineering class, plus the chocolate box (minus a few chocolates, oops), and now you are ready to present your evidence to your good friend, Rose! She’s studying to be a psychiatrist, so you figure she’ll definitely know what to do!

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  


EB: hi rose!   
TT: Ah, wonderful, I was in the mood for a romantic comedy.   
EB: huh?   
TT: You are messaging me regarding your mysterious notes, are you not?   
EB: well........yeah, but what if i wasn't?   
EB: what if i just wanted to check up on my good friend? :)   
TT: As much as your emotional posturing warms the cockles of my cold, dead heart, I must admit that I find it unlikely.   
EB: oh yeah? how come?   
TT: Because ever since I informed you that my roommate next semester would be a young woman of Trollish persuasion, you have been 'checking up on me' near-daily for the past week and a half.   
TT: And I distinctly recall telling you that if you messaged me a single time more about how you are 'here to talk whenever you want, rose!!!!!!!!' I would requisition my mother's plane in order to fly to San Francisco and stab you directly in the eye.   
EB: heheheh, okay, yeah, i remember that part!   
TT: Excellent, that means we need waste no more time on the subject.   
TT: Entertain me with your lovelorn woes, John, lest I expire of Economics-wrought boredom.   
EB: okay! i am going to send you a couple of the notes i've gotten, and also some notes from someone that i think might be a suspect in the case of the secret flirter!   
TT: Dear god, it's gained a moniker.   
EB: yup! okay, scanning now!

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] sent tentacleTherapist [TT] the file "notes.jpeg" --  
TT: Hmm.  
EB: hmm?  
TT: Indeed.  
TT: Well, John, it appears to be a handful of love notes. I'm not entirely sure what you expect me to do with them, beyond analyze the sender's slightly worrying obsession with strength.  
EB: well, i mean you can if you want to? but i was thinking more about the handwriting!  
TT: Assuming that you wish me to compare said handwriting, I regret to inform you that, as much as it pains me to admit it, I do not exist in the television show CSI.  
EB: roooooooose! use your psychic powers!  
TT: Psychiatrist, John. I am studying to become a psychiatrist.  
EB: :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :(  
TT: Very well, cease your pleading emoticons at once. I'll have a look at it.  
TT: Hmm.  
EB: more hmming!  
TT: Based off of my extremely rudimentary knowledge of handwriting analysis, I would say that these are written by the same person.  
TT: Also, both samples appear to have copious amounts of the word “STRONG.”  
TT: John, are you being stalked by some sort of bodybuilder?  
EB: heheheh, nope!  
EB: even better! :)  
TT: What.  
EB: thanks a lot, rose! that's all i need to know!  
TT: John, don't you dare sign out, you need to explain yourself.  
EB: and if you ever need to talk about your roommate, just let me know!  
ectoBiologist logged out.  
TT: Arrrgh!

Still giggling, you turn your laptop off and then gather up the things you’re going to need for the coming weekend. Relief has flooded you; your primary concern before was that you didn’t want two people vying for your attention, because really, you’re just not that sort of guy! Jealousy makes you feel uncomfortable! But now that you are _pretty_ sure that you know who is sending you notes, you feel tons better.

You get to work. You’ll need to write this whole thing out if you’re going to get Karkat to accept it!


	10. SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME INTERLUDE PART 2: SHITTY RAP FACTORY EDITION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, there's some nonsense going down with Vriska over at the blog: http://askthenerdstucks.tumblr.com/

**> Tavros: RAP.**

AT: yO, uH, dj nITRO, iN THE HOUSE

AT: wE’RE GONNA ROCK, yOUR FUCKING HORNS OFF

AT: cHECK IT

AT: aLL THESE MUTHERFUCKERS STUNTIN’, lIKE THEY KNOW HOW TO CULL ME,

AT: jEALOUS OF THE BITCHES THAT i GET, wHEN i ROLL IN

AT: lEGS AIN’T A PROBLEM IF YOUR BULGE STILL TICKS

AT: sO ALL YOU WIGGLERS TALK BIG, bUT IT DON’T MEAN SHIT,

AT: cOULDN’T CARE LESS, ‘cAUSE i’M IN WITH THE hEIRESS

AT: pEERLESS, fEARLESS, fUCK WITH ME IT AIN’T A NEAR MISS

AT: i’LL BEAT YOUR ASS BLACK, sO CHECK THE SIZE OF MY RACK

AT: aND GET READY FOR MY MOTHERFUCKIN’ HORN ATTACK

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] sent adiosToreador [AT] the file "[hmm.jpeg](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cb4xriJNN1E/TgCKWDB_pMI/AAAAAAAAADo/eoauDFmkeN0/s1600/Gladiator%2Bthumbs%2Bdown.gif)" --

AT: }:?

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] sent adiosToreador [AT] the file "[okay.jpeg](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2i1vkBt1z1rtcfaqo1_500.gif)" --

AT: }:)


	11. > Author: Mobius double reacharound update.

**> John: Set plans into motion!**

You are now SONG RAIN. You hail from a distant and mystical land where a kindly ABBOT raised you from infancy, your parents having been killed by GOBLINS when you were a baby. There you trained in the WAY OF THE GLOWING PALM, which prepared you for the EPIC QUEST which all monks are required to undertake upon reaching nineteen years of age.

Thus far, you have succeeded in finding an epic quest, as well as a delightful PARTY OF ADVENTURERS with which to undertake it! Go you! Your companions are SPINNERET MINDFANG, a THIEF of some renown; BRIARHEART, a noble WILDLING of the KINDLEBOUGH FOREST; and GRATHNAR BONEFIST, a wandering BARBARIAN PRINCE who seeks vengeance for the death of his LUSUS. You have successfully struck up a FRIENDSHIP with Briarheart, and a MOIRALLEGIANCE with Mindfang, who seemed about ready to kill everyone and rob the bodies before you came along.

Grathnar is a different matter. You think that Grathnar might be FLUSHED for you, but, being from a monastery, you unfortunately have no experience with these matters!

This does not, of course, mean that you don’t feel the stirrings of affection in your own heart.

(“Are we, doing a dating sim now, or...”

“Shut up, Tavros, this is interesting! Look at Equius’s _face_!”

“Vriska, stop, I’m narrating!”)

You have all stopped at an inn in a small village on the border of the Coldwood to determine the best path to the Hidden City; the Tsaresse is resting in an upstairs room, and one of Briarheart’s befriended animals is guarding her. The Innkeeper has reluctantly allowed this, on account of Mindfang’s suggestions (backed up by her multitudinous daggers). The four of you sit at an outdoor table, discussing what to do next. Grathnar has bound his hair back with a leather thong, and it leaves his noble face bare for your perusal. You want nothing more than to kiss his high-boned cheek, but alas! You know not how to ask!

(“I am becoming, um, slightly uncomfortable...”

“Tavros, please, just a little longer?”

“Karkat, would you perhaps lend me some of your towels? I appear to have gone through mine.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”)

“If we’re going through the Coldwood, we’re going to need more supplies than we have currently,” you say. “There’s a general store and a blacksmith here in the village, but we won’t be able to buy new weapons and armor until we reach the Hidden City.”

“Or one of the larger towns, in the Coldwood.”

“Exactly! So if we need anything fixed, we should do it now.”

Grathnar nods. “I shall see to it that our weapons are...”

“Oh, just fucking _kiss_ already!”

(“Vriska, stop, you’re going to--!”

“I didn’t know, the figures bent like that.”

“Vriska, stop making kissy faces with the goddamn figures and let your moirail fill his quadrant, you grubshitting asshole!”)

With Mindfang’s outburst, you find yourself abruptly flung across the table; you and Grathnar spill unceremoniously to the ground. Your face lands next to his face. Your lips touch. He smells like rain, like the coppery tang of blood, like...

**> John: Be assailed by Mindfang.**

“Ow ow ow ow!”

“Stop whining, I’m doing this for your own good!”

“I think you might, be drawing a bit of--”

“ _Vriska Serket, unhand him at once._ ”

You’ve never heard Equius angry before. Alarmed, yes. Annoyed, sure, once or twice. But angry? Never. You know that as an indigo he has fits of rage, but you’ve never seen them; Nepeta senses his moodswings with an almost uncanny accuracy, and she always manages to secret herself and her moirail away before anyone else can be dragged into the fray. Now, though, Equius is standing, his fists clenched at his sides and a vein standing out on his forehead. His teeth are bared, and he has his head angled down, slightly, as though he intends to gore Vriska with his horns.

Vriska slowly lets go of you. You’re pretty sure she had been intending to throw you over the table in Equius’s direction, but her claws had dug into your side, and you’d started to struggle. A few faint spots of red bead around the neat little punctures in your shirt. That was a nice shirt! You wore it specifically for seduction reasons! You pluck at the holes, feeling like you want to laugh or maybe like you want to cry, because you had this all worked out in your head, and Song Rain was going to kiss Grathnar, and then you were going to kiss _him_ , and...

Equius kneels. He’s kneeling in front of _you_. This makes him shorter than you, but not by all that much; his horns are still nearly level with the top of your head. You want to touch them; the broken one has been left jagged for reasons unknown, but the center of it appears to be filled with sealant. The other is a glossy orange-yellow, nearly red at the base, and a buttercup hue at the tip.

You are transfixed. The room seems to be holding its breath.

“My lovely Song Rain,” he says, and you feel a tiny seed of hope take root in your chest, feel it begin to push frail little spring-green boughs outwards. “My kingdom is in ruins, my people scattered to the four corners of the world. Though I might have once been a prince, I am now an ordinary troll, no greater or lesser than any other. A wise woman once told me that the color of one’s blood now means as little as the color of one’s skin. Though it divides us still, we should not let it.”

Oh my god, you are going to cry, you are getting an _epic speech_.

“I have naught to offer you but my sword and my strength, yet still I would ask: Song Rain, follower of the Way of the Glowing Palm and Monk of the Cartecastian Mountains, would you accept the flushed attentions of this once-noble barbarian?”

He delicately bows his head, his cool lips brushing across the back of your hand. You can feel the itchy prickle of his fangs against your skin, but also how tense he is, how much he has to hold himself back to make himself this soft, this accessible. Your heart feels too full, and you think about the very first note he sent you, where he talked about how soft and tender you seem, but how strong you are inside, and you think that maybe, sometimes, Equius wants very much to be soft, to be tender, but he can’t because even his tenderness can break bones and bruise flesh.

But not with you. You’ve honed your body since you were a little kid; your dad once had you lift a safe in order to gain access to a fucking _note_ , and not even a note with anything important on it, just a _IF YOU HAVE FOUND THIS NOTE, THAT MEANS YOU ARE NOW STRONG ENOUGH TO LIFT THE SAFE. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU, SON. YOU ARE FINALLY BECOMING A MAN._

You turn your hand, curling your fingers up to touch Equius’s cheek. Your thumb lays near the corner of his eye, but beneath his sunglasses he doesn’t even flinch.

“Fucking _kiss_ already, before your bulges wither and die from disuse!”

Well you figure Vriska is probably right about that! To the tune of Karkat bemoaning the death of chivalry and romance, you fist your hand in Equius’s collar and drag him up to your mouth. He tastes like rain and copper, and he shakes like a leaf when your noses bump, when your teeth catch at his lip, when you lift your hand to comb your fingers through his hair, and behind you Tavros says, “I am going to the ablutionblock, if anyone needs me, which I don’t think you will, but just in case you do, please roll for initiative before any more kissing, so that the rest of us, have at least _some_ warning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! That's the 'official' end of Roll for Initiative. Thank you everyone who's been reading, everyone who has left comments and kudos, I'm so, so glad that you liked this crazy little romcom!
> 
> But remember, there's still one more interlude for you, and probably there will be more stories in this iteration of the universe (especially if people give me prompts they'd like to see, cough cough). There's also the ASK BLOG (http://askthenerdstucks.tumblr.com/), where you can talk to the characters, both past and present, and leave prompts for the author for things you'd like to see!
> 
> And, of course, there's the prequel...


	12. HOLY COW, ONE MORE INTERLUDE: SNARKY BROADS AND THEIR HORSESHIT EDITION

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering grimAuxilatrix [GA] \--  
TT: I am given to understand that we shall be roommates come Spring semester.  
GA: Yes That Is A Thing That Will Happen  
TT: Do you have any objections, moral or otherwise, to violin music, knitting, or the occult?  
GA: What Kind Of Violin Music  
TT: Paganini, mostly.  
GA: Then No I Have No Objections  
GA: Do You Object To Sewing Or Fashion Shows Or Sunbathing  
TT: Not unless I'm forced to perform any of said tasks.  
GA: No Unless Of Course You Want Me To Make You Something  
GA: I Am A Decent Seamstress  
TT: Then I believe this will be the start of a beautiful roommateship.  
TT: My name is Rose Lalonde.  
GA: I Am Kanaya Maryam  
TT: It's a pleasure to meet you.  
GA: No The Pleasure Is All Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd scene. :) Final reminder that the ask blog is open to questions and prompts (http://askthenerdstucks.tumblr.com/) and that this definitely isn't the end of this universe!


End file.
